


Wandering In Winter

by Wandering_ChildRP, WanderingChild (Wandering_ChildRP)



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_ChildRP/pseuds/Wandering_ChildRP, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_ChildRP/pseuds/WanderingChild
Summary: Christine Daaé has become Madame De Chagny after marrying her rescuer. However, she is haunted by the memories of her Angel of Music and former life as a free woman.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	1. Baby Blankets

“My angel,” Christine sobbed as she held the small blue crocheted baby blanket to her chest. The white dressing down adorned with lace turned floaty in the light breeze whilst she spoke into the night air on the balcony of her home. She just could not bear to cover her child with a blanket made with love that was based on dishonesty so instead, it sat folded neatly on her child’s draws table just mocking her every move. “When will you ever show yourself to me, angel? When will you appear?” 

Erik sat hunched in a willowy oak tree that overlooked the grand bedroom and nursery of the home of the Vicomte and Vicomtesse. From afar he had watched Christine turn from a lovely young woman into a soon to blossom mother to a proper aristocratic lady with her son. A son was so perfect and small. Sighing to himself, Erik listened to her wail. How could Christine want or need him after all he had done? The sobs tore Erik’s soul into pieces; he longed to comfort her and the now crying child, but it wasn’t his place. He had made the choice for both of them, and tonight would be his last glimpse of his beloved. 

“Erik... please.” Christine whimpered as he caught sight of her disappear into the corridor and reappear in the nursery now without the blanket. She soothed the baby through her own tears as she bought the small infant to the window. Biting his tongue till metallic blood tainted his mouth, Erik watched her pull back the swaddle to show the tiny face to him; his heart almost stopped at the true perfection. A tiny little perfect face with dark hair and hazel eyes; all Christine and none of her husband. Her husband who was out in the city for the third night in a row, Erik remembered. Erik only ever came if he knew Raoul was out and unfortunately it had become quite frequent. It annoyed the phantom man so deeply. He’d trusted Raoul to take care of Christine both physically and emotionally and he failed to do so by the sobs racking the young woman’s body. How Erik longed to hold her to his chest and promise everything would be okay. Despite the visits, he’d never seen the child before. Erik had seen the crib and the blankets, but never the small bundle of Christine’s love and devotion to another man. 

“Your daddy would show you the stars and tell you much more than I ever will know. He is such an intelligent man, your father. You will learn in time. Tonight it is just you and I. No staff, just mummy, my little darling boy.” Christine kissed the child’s forehead lovingly as she patted the child’s small back whilst she walked circling back to the crib and laying the child in its bed. “Your daddy would love you so much and he’d take you everywhere with him. I know he would. He would be so proud of us. We would walk on Sunday’s and he’d buy us a little modest house and play your beautiful music to lull you to sleep and on the nice days, he would walk you around the garden and insist I rest because daddy needs to little sleep. You could scream your little lungs out and daddy would probably make a quick-witted comment about knowing you had an opera singer mother. He’d be such a lovely father... just like grandpa if he were here too... We both miss our Daddy’s, don’t we.” Once more Christine broke down, her knees buckling as she held a hand to her face. 

It was troubling how Christine was talking; what exactly had Raoul said or done to show much disinterest. If it was Erik he would have no wet nurse or nanny and he and his wife would raise their son together then maybe, in time, add a playmate or two. 

“Oh,” Erik’s soul sunk as he fought to look away. It would take no time to swoop over and hold Christine, whilst allowing her to hide under his cape and just feel the gentle touch of someone who cared for her. “If she was my wife and that my child... I’d never leave their sides.” 

“Please... angel, tell me you are safe at least.” Christine almost sang into the night air whilst the tears dried once again. She longed to know what had actually happened with him but Raoul had said it was no concern of hers in her condition. Christine had assumed that meant he had been murdered, maybe even at Raoul’s hands or request. Her poor angel had never known love like he deserved as a human. If she knew for sure, at least she could arrange a small grave for him under the legal name only she knew. He’d whispered it, she smiled whilst hearing those little words once more. Tomorrow, she would insist on planting a tree or flower in the garden that she knows would be for him. She could tell her boy about the Angel of Music and what Christine was like when she was allowed to sing at the grandest Opera house in all of Europe. Erik shifted in the tree whilst Christine retreated indoors to hide from the chill creeping in and closed the large balcony doors to her baby’s nursery. 

Should he show himself? Give away his position in the world and that he was very indeed alive. Well, he was living and breathing but he’d barely felt alive really. Things had gotten more tolerable as Erik barely came to France except to check upon Christine; it was easier now she lived rurally to venture around the grounds undetected. It was so dark and large with servants almost constantly crossing that a few footsteps meant nothing to a self-involved man of the gentry. Erik was worried so much when he had gotten word of her labouring the child, it had taken him four hours to ride to the property and so many hours he’d watched that stupid boy drinking and pacing the garden whilst his wife was in dreadful pain with only a nurse and a midwife. How could the Vicomte leave his wife for so long and just sit and await word of their child? Let alone follow the quite clearly stupid rules of only a five-minute audience with his wife before sitting down to drink in celebration. The babe had been a month premature based on their marriage date but Erik was quite sure the Vicomte would have claimed the woman as his own long before. Such insolence and disregard he had shown to his wife and their child. The screams of intense pain had made Erik feel nauseous and he had grimaced all night just dreading they would end without the screams of an infant. The boy had not paid any attention and Erik had longed to sit quietly next to her bed and just listen to both of them breathing. He wished to hear those gentle rhythms but never quite could.

The baby would almost be four months and the Vicomte had barely changed his lifestyle to accommodate. Erik knew what it was like to grow without a father and he hated to think simple aristocracy rules meant the child should be raised by staff, he’d heard Christine fuss about wanting to be a mother regardless of events or the clocks times, at least the babe would have Christine and a good education. Maybe Raoul would become better with age or a daughter. It pained him so to hope for Raoul or even wish he could be helped without wanting to wring his neck once more. 

Erik prayed for that to be true. For Christine to accept he had known what life was best for her. She had to become the vicomtesse and live a life she deserved not dwell in whatever existence Erik called a life. How he longed to buy that modest house and be normal, to have a wife and children whom he could dote on. If only his face was handsome, there would be nothing to stop him. Christine would have taken his hand and danced with him long before Raoul arrived and they would be each other’s muses. Now, they could be sat with darkened rings around their eyes as they sat silently waiting for their child to fall into a deep sleep and they too could nap together. 

Suddenly, the wind blew strongly and Erik’s Inverness coat flared wildly. Beautiful dark eyes glistening with the stars met Erik’s yellow broken ones. 

Christine’s breath seemed to catch and her breathing turned her body to shudders and shakes. Just like that night, her legs seemed to lose any muscle and wobble in the breeze only she had no one to catch her and she fell onto the bustle of her dress with her eyes rarely closing. They could have looked between each other for what could have been hours or mere seconds as Christine grasped at her chest for air with an unreadable expression. 

“Am I mad? Have I become hysterical?” Christine’s whisper floated on the wind to Erik’s ear. Her eyes wide as she looked shocked and almost about to faint. Erik stood, ready to become the protagonist hero and swoop in to catch her at a moments notice. “Am I imagining you?” 

The clip of horse hooves on the gravel driveway and Raoul’s carriage pulled in below them. Christine stood still with her mouth agape and Erik only moved to bring his index finger to his lips to shush her. He was real and alive. Her angel was there and he was real and so beautiful in the moonlight. 

Internally Christine felt her blood turn to ice in shock then fire in desire. How she longed for him to take her under that woollen cloak with her child held firmly at her bosom and disappear. Ever since the clock had chimed mocking her at midnight, Christine knew she had been overpowered by the men and her own desires and love had been of little consequence as Erik ushered her into Raoul’s open arms. However, once she had returned to him, the Phantom had ravished her and left under darkness and Christine had been left no option to marry. Raoul wasn’t a bad man, quite the opposite but Erik had set her passions alight in every way and Raoul, though brave and stoic, was not her angel of music. He was a lovely friend, a childhood crush but his boyish good looks had covered that he had become exactly like his father. Parties and society where Raoul’s love; Christine accompanied but now she was foremost a mother to their child. To Raoul and his family, mothers sat neatly at home with a cross-stitch just waiting to open their legs to a drunken husband or clean their soiled undergarments from the ladies company they kept in secret.

“Darling! Where are all the staff?” Raoul laughed as he shouted throughout the empty house causing it to echo before happily, slightly drunkenly, running up the grand staircase. “I had no one to collect my hat. Hello, my love.”

As he entered the bedroom, Christine gave her husband her cheek as her eyes stayed on Erik. Both of them were paralysed in fear and anxiety. If Raoul saw Erik, the two men would surely fight to near-death or until they finally listened to Christine’s pained wails for peace. Then Raoul would probably kill him regardless, Erik couldn’t blame him really. Had parties been reversed, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t be dragging a sorry corpse from the tree. 

“What are you looking at?” Raoul looked too but Erik had covered himself with the black cloak making him blend indescriptly into the surrounding. Of course, he did, Christine thought to herself and wondered how many near misses she had with the Phantom. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

They both winced at the turn of phase Raoul has chosen without thought. Yet, he held no malice, only wanting to comfort as he touched Christine’s shoulders and rested his head into hers. It only caused a fan of tobacco and whiskey laced breath across Christine’s neck and face. She hated that taste, Erik had never once smelt of smoke and his poison of choice was brandy. Brandy that was so fine even Christine hadn’t baulked at its roughness when he’d allowed her a sip under the pretence that whiskey could harm her throat if Raoul offered it. 

“I’m sorry, I meant-“

“I was just looking at the tree. I was concerned it may be dying or dead and blow over in the wind. I would hate to wake to a breeze and glass over our bed.”

“Don’t be silly. That tree has stood since I was a boy and it will stand when our boy is a man with his own wife looking at it.” Raoul answered dismissively as he softly pulled Christine by the shoulders into their bedroom, closing the doors so Erik could no longer hear them clearly. “I will go and check on the little prince tonight, my love.”

“Actually, Raoul, without staff, may he sleep in our room tonight?” Sharp pangs of maternal worry and dread at the lengths the masked man had gone to before stabbed at Christine's soul. Surely he wouldn’t, after all, he had shown her kindness and humanity but he had also killed and acted out in immature vengeance. “I would like to... my nerves... when I cannot see...”

Luckily for Christine and Erik, Raoul accepted this with nothing more than a wave of his hand and quickly began to prepare the bassinet at the side of the bed where Christine slept. a gentleman yes but not one wishing to be disturbed in his sleep.

“Ahh, here is the blanket my mother made him  
Why do you refuse to allow him to sleep with it?” Raoul asked with a soft smile of contentment as he laid the yarned creation over the side of the wicker. “She made it for our baby and her grandson. She would be quite disappointed to know it wasn’t in use, my love. I shall get our boy.”

As her husband left, Christine ran to the window but Erik was already shimmying down the trunk of the tree to disappear once more. Rubbing her temples in stress and chewing on her full lips she had so much to say but no one to listen. That night, Christine tucked herself into bed but she didn’t sleep a wink. Raoul snored from the alcohol in his stomach and the baby occasionally murmured before he needed to be fed. Christine was just resigned to be miserable and a shell of a woman. Haunted by a ghost she thought long gone, haunted by choices made around her and haunted by her own secrets. She silently prayed he would return to her for those unanswered questions to be heard.


	2. Remember me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memory of the last time Christine saw Erik before he reappeared at her window.

It could have been moments or even years as Christine’s voice hung in the air down the long and drawn out hallway. The house had that smell of damp that instantly hit your lungs and sat uncomfortably rising in the chest. 

“Show yourself. I demand you do it.” Her voice lacked the power and the soft vibrato of nerves was instant to Erik’s ear; after all the hours he’d spent listening to every vocal intimation it would be impossible to fool him. Yet she still had the commanding charisma that meant the Phantom couldn’t tear his eyes from the woman illuminated only in a small bit of candlelight. “Meg told me this is where you have been hiding. Don’t you dare try to pretend there is no one here.”

Erik sat silently at the top of the staircase almost bat like looming down upon someone who couldn’t see him. Christine was dressed in much finer fabrics than when she was a ballet girl but yet her hair still tumbled down her back like an unmarried woman. Had she not yet wed the Vicomte?

“I will no longer tolerate your silly little games. You give me no choices continuously. You and him. At war. I as some pawn for you both to win. I didn’t get one choice did I? You sent me back to the surface when I upset you. You forced me into the lead roles. He forced me into Don Juan. He forced me to bait you,” Every word slowly ascended in anger as Christine listed all the wrongdoings she had bottled up. “and you... well, you know exactly what you did and neither of you cared what I wanted to do, did you? Do you even care now?”

Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the lack of light in the house but it just got even worse the more she could identify. The stairs seemed to lean awkwardly into the hallway and the kitchen seemed sparse of any way to cook within it, the living room was dark and Christine could see no fire lit or furniture for one to sit upon. It was just horrible and deserved firebombing more than upkeep. 

“I wanted both of you not because I’m greedy or selfish but because he was my one friend from before the opera house and when my life was the best it was. He was my connection to my past and childish exuberance for the world. Then, you were just the opposite. We had music and world-weary in someways but you were always... my friend.” Christine looked to her feet as she remembered all the conversations, the gifts left in her dressing room or upon her bed after dance practice. Only he could have afforded the beautiful silver brush and hair comb. He did nice things that weren’t extravagant too, Christine had cried one night through the mirror on the anniversary of her mother’s death about she’d give the little girl fine chocolates secretly. That nice had been a ribboned parcel with an opera ghost wax sealed note that somehow made the evening bearable. Quite how he found those chocolates in Paris, Christine would never know but it made her heart soar. Delicate hands with the glinting engagement ring left her stomach as she began to ramp up in volume and tone with the limbs joining in the released energy. “You were my mentor, my teacher, the person who pushed me for better, you were my everything! You could have had me at your beck and call if you didn’t hold such- such contempt for the world! I had you and then- then, nothing, you just pushed too hard then you told me to leave! You decided and he decided; never me.”

In the silence, Christine’s internal monologue suddenly had a voice. She was torn and twisted so many times that she felt she no longer resembled the little Swedish girl who loved to sing and dance. Her body felt tired, one shoulder ached constantly and the cold seemed to always be chilling her delicate spine to the point some days all she wanted to do was sit in a warm bath and be alone. 

“They were so sure he’d be here,” Christine whispered to herself as she closed her eyes in finally admitting defeat, closure would never come. Her bosom rose and fell under the tight corset and the candle light reflected off her pale chest with warmth. “If you are here and simply doing that horrible voyeur Phantom act, then know I came alone to speak with you and if you cannot talk to me then I will not look for you again. Goodbye, my angel of music.”

Erik’s throat constricted, there was so possibility that any words would be honey-coated if he forced them out. His heartbeat so hard into his rib cage he wondered if it would bruise. The idea of never seeing her again was too much for his weary self. He couldn’t speak, simply couldn’t find any way to force out the words. Erik had listened dutifully and he knew every word was correct, he felt just like that little boy who was lost and frightened whilst knowing he didn’t fit in the world. 

Instead of speaking or sudden movements, Erik could do nothing more than strike up his lighter. Hasty hands shook as his mind forced the preciseness to go to his finger muscles. Christine instantly picked up on the foreign noise, her hands clasped at her chest in fear until the barely-there amber glow that illuminated only the handsome side of his face but managed to turn it into something sinister. Blue eyes shone as Christine tried to control her breathing. She wouldn’t pass out tonight. No, she would stand and face him. 

What was she doing? He was a murderer, he’d almost killed Raoul until something cleared in his eyes. His lovely, passionate eyes that glowed just the same now. Softness. The most cleared and horrified humanity sat within them. Then, he’d told her so beautifully and heartbreakingly that he loved her. The man had made so many vile mistakes but Christine had started the train when she ripped off his mask. Before then he was just toying with them all. No one had been hurt and he’d always been such a comforting protector to Christine. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” The words came as a devastated whisper. “You should be with your fiancé.”

“Come down here and talk to me properly,” Christine spoke in a tone juxtaposing the mans, she sounded like a stern schoolmistress. “I will not come to you this time. I don’t even know your name and you consume my mind like a travelling hypnotist! Get down here and talk to me!”

“My name is Erik.”

The metal clinked back together to sit them in darkness as a rustle and then creak of the staircase with weight being transferred down. Christine held her breath; she still feared him. The Phantom may be broken but he was still unpredictable. As he neared, Christine instinctively backed up against the damp and door, sending a shaken breath throughout her body. Erik once again slumped his shoulders even lower in defeat. He lit an oil lamp from the nearby table but retreated into the shadows.

“You don’t have to look at me. I just don’t want you to trip-“ 

“-I have your mask, Erik.” The name stumbled over her tongue but it felt right. It was square and powerful just like him. He wasn’t a Phantom or a stray child fleeing from the circus, he was Erik. “Raoul gave it to me as a sick trophy to prove you where dead. I told him I burnt it but I didn’t. I know Meg found it and you’d disappeared.” Searching her bag the words flowed too quickly as tears prickled at her eyes. All she could think the moment that Raoul placed the porcelain was in her hands was that Erik would need his mask and that it was pristine. There wasn’t a bend, crack or red blood stain on it. She’d hidden it within her undergarment draw and now it was carefully unwrapped from the corset protecting the shape from bumps and unwrapped from the towel underneath. The emotions conflicted the soprano so deeply that she needed this closure. She needed to see if he was dead or alive, if he cared still or even ever cared about her and most importantly she wanted to talk to the man from behind the mirror who was so odd but yet drew her in. 

Trembling hands of a skeletally thin man softly closed over her warm ones as Erik crumbled to the floor he ran out a thousand apologies as he begged at her feet for forgiveness. All he wanted was to go back to that night. He wanted to sing in her ear again and beg her not to ask about what was under that mask but to accept him initially. 

“You looked at me not this blasted thing that first night I appeared. I was so wrapped up in the idea of being normal and handsome that I couldn’t cope with you seeing this... seeing me as I am. I wanted you to look at my eyes like you did and to want to walk with me... I just wanted you to want me to be the one at your dressing room door... Naively, I started to believe in those dreams. When they shattered I just felt the world was over once again. I’m so sorry, Christine...”

The empathetic woman did nothing more than once again meet his emotionally stunted behaviour with love. Without a word, she knelt down, allowing the mask to be pulled from his hands, Christine slipped it over the face of the Phantom. Not to hide him but to give him back some of his severely lacking confidence. For such an egotist, he was shy and delicate in all the ways Christine was tough. 

“I hope you live a happy life that you deserve Christine.” His knuckles were white as he held her palm to his misshapen lips. They were chapped and bitten, and she knew it was from crying himself to sleep. The mask pressed into the heel of her hand as her fingers calmly stroked Erik’s exposed skin. 

She could listen no more. Her own throat was tight but she moved her mouth just inches from Erik’s ear. The perfume she was wearing was one he’d left as a gift months ago and that seemed to lull his soul to just enjoy and commit the moment to memory. Neither of them were stable in this moment as Christine wanted nothing more than a comforting embrace as she sobbed. However, she had cried so much that she thought she may never be able to muster a tear for the rest of her life. Erik closed his eyes and sighed sadly, his body started to concave on itself with the crushing emotions. 

“Remember me, once in a while  
Please promise me you'll try  
When you find that once again you long  
To take your heart back and be free  
If you ever find a moment  
Spare a thought for me”

Christine broke once more. She forced her face into his neck as unfortunately the sobs racked her body and her thin knees bounced off the hard flooring. 

“I don’t want to, angel-“ Erik’s deep and lovely baritone took over as she felt the vibrating rumble. He didn’t know what to do with his body yet but his muscles seemed to take over and crave her warmth in a loose hold. He’d caused every little tear and hiccup in Christine for his self-indulgence of having a muse whom he loved and may one day love him in return. 

”We never said our love was evergreen  
Or as unchanging as the sea  
But if you can still remember  
Stop and think of me  
Think of all the things  
We've shared and seen  
Don't think about the way  
Things might have been...” 

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m dyslexic as hell and a craver of attention lol If you like or have any ideas please comment or message me on tumblr! 
> 
> Hopefully you guys like it and enjoy the series!


End file.
